


summer's rest

by miominmio



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashback, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Scars, Serious Injuries, Sickness, Summer, Whipping, Whump, brothers jones, hey Liam is good in this one, poor killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miominmio/pseuds/miominmio
Summary: Emma discovers Killian's scars.





	summer's rest

It was one of their first times, and because of the heatwave holding Storybrooke ransom, they went out into a field of poppies. The flowers were so tall that they wouldn't be seen where they lay pressed against each other on a blanket.

At first, they had made a joke of it, peeling piece after piece of clothing off as a means of escaping the infernal heat. Then, they kissed, and as their deepened kiss, their bodies came together, his fingers unhooking her bra and her fingers pulling his zipper down. His kisses and nibbles were planted all the way down her neck, and she ran her hands through his hair, breathing heavily. There was not a stitch of clothing between them now, and Emma gripped Killian's back as he moved further down her body.

"Killian!" She suddenly laughed, and Killian's head popped up, looking a little flustered. "I think you've been lying on something - there is an imprint on your back."

She brushed her fingers over the grooves crisscrossing his spine. They were so plentiful that she could not imagine what he had been lying on.

Killian, she was surprised to see, had paled suddenly and considerably, and the excitement had died in his eyes.

"Killian?" she asked, worried now, trying to read his expression. "What is it?"

Killian pulled himself off her and sat on his haunches. His shirt was in his hands, but she stopped him before he pulled it on.

Those grooves... It felt as if Emma had swallowed ice as she came to a horrifying realisation.

"Killian," she said in her Saviour-Emma voice, the one that allowed no argument to be made," let me see your back."

He sat still as she circled around him. The sight of his back made her flinch, at first. For someone who wore a leather jacket even in the hottest of weathers, Killian's skin was surprisingly tan. But it was covered in a web of silvery scars, some deeper and rougher than others, almost all of them long and severe. 

"Killian," she said, and her voice wavered. She put a hand, ever so gingerly, over his shoulder, and when he didn't pull away she pressed the rest of her body to his. He did not say anything but she could feel the tension in his muscles. All she could do was rest her head on his shoulder, even as tears ran down her face and down his chest. 

 

"Killian!"

The rain was relentless that night, hammering down on Killian's exposed back as he sprawled over the slippery boards of the deck. His brother's blood splashed onto Liam's boots as he knelt by Killian's side, hands hovering over the bleeding welts but not daring to touch them. Even above the raging storm, Liam heard Killian's agonised moans like the noises of a dying animal and it was akin to torture to hear it. 

A sailor came over, a benevolent type, and Liam asked for bandages and rum. Usually so tranquil, he couldn't keep the tremble from his voice now. It wasn't the first time that Silver had taken his frustration out on Killian, but none of the other times had been quite so violent, and usually with Liam's knack for diplomacy he was able to save Killian's hide. This time, the situation had escalated far too quickly to be assuaged by clever discourse. Liam was held back by a few crew mates of his as Killian was tied to the mast and flayed open by Silver. His screams had cut into Liam like knives, but the ensuing silence was worse - when Killian was hanging limp in the ropes, eyes rolled back in his head. He would come to, blood bubbling in his mouth, only for him to lose awareness the next moment. And all the while, Silver whipped and whipped and whipped him. 

Liam despaired as he looked down on his little brother - dripping hair plastered over his creased forehead, eyes half-open and unseeing. The rain would wash away the blood from his back only for new blood to well up. Killian groaned, and blindly reached for Liam, who took his hand and held it tight. He had not cried since the day their father sold them, always mindful of looking and acting brave in front of Killian, but he did now, the sight of his little brother broken and bleeding on the deck breaking his heart.

He was relieved upon the return of the sailor, who came with the requested items, and with him he also had a cabin boy. The boy had once had been the apprentice of an esteemed physician but was thrown out after he became addicted to morphine. He had no morphine with him now, but knew one thing and another about dressing wounds and the like. As far out sea as they were, the boy was an ample substitute for a doctor, and what was more he had a clean rag with him - a rare commodity on a ship of their kind, mind. This he soaked in the rum: Liam knew what was to come. He held Killian's hand in both of his, and spoke to him in a calm, reassuring manner: "Killian, we're going to clean your wounds now. It's going to hurt." Killian whimpered, and screwed his eyes tightly shut, even before the cabin boy started gently scrubbing the blood off his back. Killian's fingers were so tightly clenched around Liam's that he was beginning to lose feeling in them.

As the boy moved further down Killian's back, Liam wished there was any way that he could rid of Killian of his agony. He would have taken it upon himself, given the chance. But as it were, there was no medicine to give, and the little rum the sailor had brought was needed for disinfection. Killian was in a vicious cycle of lucidity brought on by pain, and so had no choice but to suffer through the procedure. Only in the briefest fragments did he lose consciousness, but the cabin boy's meticulous work brought him back to awareness. In those moments he looked at Liam with glassy eyes. Liam was usually the answer to Killian's problems - he always found a way to protect and to help Killian. It burned a hole in Liam's heart that he could not help him now. He could only hold his hand and whisper nonsense to him, over and over, in soothing tones. He did so as the cabin boy began to bandage Killian's back, winding strips of cloth across his spine and around his rib cage, the wounds immediately bleeding through the first layer. By now Killian was not making any noise anymore, but his eyes were dull with hurt. 

The cabin boy finished his work and told Liam that he would have to change the bandages again tomorrow. Liam gave him all of the coins in his pocket and promised him more. He could not adequately express his gratitude to the boy, but the coins seemed to have done the trick: the boy's eyes lit up like rubies. The sailor, the boy and Liam did their best to carry Killian below deck to a holding area - Liam decided it was best to stay out of the way of the crew for now. He brought down old rags and blankets upon which they lay Killian and then covered him with more blankets yet. Though he had quietened, his face had taken on an unhealthy sheen and his lips were tinged blue. Liam would have to stay awake and look after him - he was going to have a fever. Liam did not mind: he doubted he would have been able to sleep in the face of the horror he had witnessed today, anyway. With a lone lantern as their company, Liam sat with Killian through the night, as before holding his hand, and watched his brother finally fall asleep after an arduous struggle with the fever. 

That night, Liam vowed to do everything in his power to get himself and Killian away from Silver. Away from this life entire, should there be such an option. There were other seas to explore, and better people to explore it with. Both of them were still young, and capable, and if they stuck together, Liam would as before keep Killian out of trouble. 

He fell asleep unintentionally in the early hours, and woke only because Killian was trying, vainly, to get up from his makeshift bed. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and blood had soaked through his bandages. There were bloody prints on the blankets upon which he had lain. 

“Hey, steady there,” said Liam, and, gripping Killian by his arms, lowered him back down,” it’s too early for you to be moving about.” 

Killian’s voice was thin and hoarse as he spoke: “My back… it hurts.” The few words left him breathless and he gasped for air before he added: “Itches.”

“I know, I know, I know,” Liam murmured. He took a rag the sailor had left for him and wiped Killian’s brow. “Your bandages will soon be changed.” He smiled, trying to go for reassuring but falling a smidgeon short. “It’s good that it itches, anyway. It means that it’s healing.”

“Bollocks,” said Killian, and Liam laughed. No sign was as good as his brother joking. Liam was ready to weep from relief. 

Later in the morning, the cabin boy returned to rid Killian of the old bandages and apply fresh ones. He must have had his own stash of medical equipment somewhere, because Liam doubted Silver was much concerned with the welfare of anyone but himself, and he certainly wouldn’t spend his own money on bandages. He asked the boy about it and he shrugged, saying: “I haven’t given up on my dreams to become a physician completely, you know.” 

Unsurprisingly, the wounds on Killian’s back were far from healing, but they hadn’t become infected, either. The boy cleaned them again, and wound them with clean strips of linen. Killian was shaking when it was over, shuddering and panting both, but it was so much better than the night before, the night Liam wanted to burn from his memory.

When the boy left, Liam fed Killian chicken broth he had bought from the ship’s cook. Beneath the veil of pain, there was murder in Killian’s eyes at being spoon-fed: Liam shrugged and smiled. It couldn’t be helped.

After food, Killian curled up beneath the blankets and slept intermittently for the latter half of the day. He didn’t sleep soundly, and he was still feverishly warm, but sleep he did. Liam sat with a book and looked after his brother. Nothing in the world would have made him leave Killian’s side. 

And so, slowly, Killian got better. He was awake for longer periods of time, even chatted to Liam when the mood allowed, and finally could get back on deck to breathe fresh air and watch the waves break against the hull. They avoided Silver like the plague, which was just as well, because, as Liam had heard by word of mouth, Silver would have preferred if Killian had died from his injuries. The animosity between the captain and the deckhand had evidently reached new heights, and Liam knew that it was more important than ever to get them off the ship and away from Silver as soon as possible. It was Liam's intention, as they reached shore, that he would go on land and make inquires. When Liam proposed as much to Killian, his brother was surprisingly apathetic. Liam attributed it to the ordeal Killian had suffered through, and hoped that one day he would receive a much more enthusiastic response. He had high hopes for his brother and himself. 

It seemed that though Killian’s body healed well over time (though his back remained incredibly sensitive), his mind was yet to catch up. He would flinch at any sudden movements, and at times Liam would find him staring emptily into space, eyes glazed over and fists clenched in his lap. Liam could only make sure that Killian knew that he was there, no matter what, but this battle was something that his brother had to take care of on his own. The demons in his head couldn't be healed by bandages and rum.

On the subject of rum - it didn't escape Liam's notice that Killian went a little harder on the stuff. And Liam couldn't blame him.

 

As dusk settled, coolness returned to Storybrooke - the town let out a sigh of relief. Emma awoke with goosebumps on a damp blanket with her arms still twined around Killian. She sat up, and noticed for the first time that there were cornflowers among the poppies. The sight soothed her.

Killian was asleep with his head on her chest. She ran a hand through his hair and down his neck, resting her fingers on the first of his scars. One day he would maybe tell her the story of how they came to be. Or he might not. But he was hers now, and she was his, and theirs was the place among the wild flowers: no demons of Killian's past could reach him here.

**Author's Note:**

> There's plenty where this one-shot came from (just ask)
> 
> oh and i haven't written in ages which is why it might be of questionable quality, take pity on me


End file.
